


Loving Punishment

by chicago_ruth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood As Lube, Bloodplay, Fantasy, Gore, Guro, Hand Feeding, Imprisonment, M/M, Sibling Incest, Stabbing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: Prince Rajasima has been imprisoned for the past few weeks for a crime he (mostly) didn't commit. His brother, Crown Prince Sundara, is there to make sure Rajasima suffers the proper punishment.





	Loving Punishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [villaindecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/villaindecay/gifts).



> Villaindecay, your letter mentions that you like violence, so I hope you meant it! I had a lot of fun writing this. Please enjoy!

Rajasima was hungry. Not a surprise; he’d been hungry for almost a week now. Two weeks? Hard to tell, locked up in the cell as he was. He’d marked the days at first, taking a small rock and scraping it across the wall, but with each passing day it felt more and more pointless.

He should be glad he could tell the time at all; he knew that there were cells without any windows, where the prisoners lived in absolute darkness until a guard came to feed them. But watching the light from the small window travel across the floor of his cell gave him no joy. Every new day would be more torture.

When that light was almost through its usual path, he heard the main cell block’s door creak open. Rajasima cringed and bent his head forward to rest on his knees, wrapping his arms tight around them.

His stomach growled loudly in anticipation.

If he were in the habit of lying to himself, he would tell himself that whoever had come was coming for one of the other prisoners. Or that it was a servant with food, a nice steaming bowl of rice and the spiciest roasted lamb.

Maybe it would be his mother, come to embrace him and tell him all was forgiven.

The door to his cell opened, the heavy metal parts scraping along the floor. Rajasima hunched down further.

“Good afternoon, Raju,” a cheerful, cruel voice greeted.

It was, of course, his brother. Rajasima wanted to stay hunched until Sundara left, but he knew Sundara wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for. So Rajasima lifted his head wearily.

Sundara had brought a lamp with him, which he hung on the hook by the door. The light illuminated Sundara’s beauty: clear skin, a finely maintained mustache, blue eyes so deep they could have been made of the ocean. He wore a silken white overcoat embroidered in silver, which shimmered in the lamp light. And, as was par for the course, he was bedecked in jewelry. Diamonds and pearls, sapphires and topazes, all arranged in rows and rows around his neck, around his arms, and some dangling from his ears, all of it complementing the mage-blue accents on his coat and crown.

There was no need for Sundara to dress up like this to see a prisoner, of course. Rajasima knew politics just as well as Sundara, and he understood that Sundara made a point to look as princely as possible for these visits to hammer home how high above Rajasima he was. The blue was excessive even for that, denoting his status as a mage and reminding Rajasima of the power he had.

It didn’t stop Rajasima from feeling that jolt of desire when he saw his brother, even while the rest of him recoiled in fear.

“Sundu,” Rajasima whispered. His voice sounded all wrong to his ears. Hoarse and broken, not the sweet melody he’d once used to win over courtiers and politicians alike.

His brother’s eyebrows lifted and he sniffed pointedly. “You stink.”

How could he not, confined as he was with no fresh water to wash with? The guards sometimes came in and dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over him, but without soap it didn’t help much. In the early days, he’d tried to use the tattered remains of his clothes as washcloths and towels, to scrape off some of the dirt, but he soon realized he would rather use them as blankets or some small semblance of pillows.

Gods, he missed sleeping on a mattress with fine feather pillows.

He missed having clothes. He missed combing his hair and shaving his beard. He missed… he missed everything about his old life.

Sundara approached him. In one hand he carried a cloth bag, which he held up. “Nothing to say? I brought you a gift, but maybe you don’t deserve it.”

It wasn’t the first time Sundara had brought a gift. Rajasima’s mouth started to water, although he knew that whatever the gift was, it would come at a price. “Please,” he said anyway. His pride was already lying shattered across the floor.

Sundara squatted down so he was at eye-level with Rajasima and began to open the bag.

He pulled out a sheathed knife.

Rajasima’s breath stopped, and he began to scramble backwards. He couldn’t get far though; the cold, rough stone of the wall stopped him before there was more than a few feet between them. “No. No, no, no, please.”

Sundara laughed. “Oh, Raju, were you always such a coward? I’m not going to do anything. See?” He reached into the bag again and pulled out a star fruit—Rajasima’s favorite.

He watched as Sundara unsheathed the knife and sliced the end off the star fruit. “Do you want it?”

Rajasima stayed where he was. Sundara shrugged and popped the first piece into his mouth. Then he sliced off another piece. “Are you sure? It’s in the perfect stage of ripeness.”

Oh gods. Rajasima’s stomach growled loudly. He wanted to eat so badly, but the knife… It wasn’t all that large though. Maybe Sundara wouldn’t be cruel this time.

Had Sundara been kind at all, these past few weeks? Yet his stomach was already pulling tight in a way that was familiar now but had been completely foreign to him at the start of his incarceration.

He watched Sundara eat another piece of fruit before he sobbed loudly and began to crawl back to his brother. Sundara gave a smug smile, but Rajasima couldn’t care. He wanted to eat.

Sundara held out the slice. “Open up, Raju.”

And open Rajasima did. He let Sundara place a piece of fruit into his mouth, and did nothing more than close his eyes when Sundara’s fingers lingered on his lips and gums. He didn’t try to chew until Sundara’s hand was safely away.

“There’s no need to cry, Raju. It’s just fruit.”

Rajasima blinked against the tears. It was just fruit. But his ears burned with humiliation. The humiliation of being fed by his brother. Of being naked when his brother wore finery. Of being reduced to this state, and having his brother gloat at him.

He opened his mouth for another piece of fruit.

Sundara kept feeding him, praising him for every bite. “That’s a good boy. Taking food from my hand like that. That’s right, eat it all up.”

When the fruit was completely eaten, Rajasima wiped his eyes and averted his gaze. He noticed Sundara’s impeccably shined boots, with little pearls decorating the sides.

“Those are my boots,” Rajasima blurt out without thinking. He knew it was a mistake immediately.

Sundara stood up, the knife still in his hand. “Your boots? Raju, you gave up your right to any clothes the moment you betrayed our family.”

He hadn’t! Not really. Not on purpose. But not matter how often he’d tried to explain that to his family, they wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t bother protesting now, more worried about the way Sundara was holding the knife.

“We executed your co-conspirator yesterday,” Sundara remarked mildly. He wiped the blade of the knife with a handkerchief. Rajasima waited for him to put the knife away, but it stayed in Sundara’s hand.

“She kept shouting that our rule was illegitimate. That the _people_ should have a say in things.” He sighed loudly. “Mother said to cut out her tongue first, which delayed everything. But in the end, I think our point got across.”

Rajasima couldn’t hide his wince. He hadn’t been friends with Karthika, but he wouldn’t have wished that fate on anybody. It didn’t surprise him though. His family was nothing if not thorough.

“You didn’t sell her as a mute slave?” Rajasima asked. He dejectedly wondered if he had that to look forward to in his future. He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth and hoped that whatever lingering affection his family still had for him would save him from that fate.

Sundara ran his finger along the blade of the knife. “Oh, father thought about it, but the crowd was already gathered for an execution. Couldn’t really disappoint them like that, now could we?”

No. No, the city loved the monthly executions. Rajasima had thought them… excessive, in the past, but never cruel. Criminals deserved to be punished. But Karthika had complained about them, and in a certain light he could see her point. He hadn’t thought she’d actually try to do something to stop them, or that she would implicate him in the process.

“When will you execute me?” Rajasima asked. “Will it be the largest spectacle the city has seen in years?”

Sundara stopped playing with the knife and glared at him. “Execute you? And have the entire city know what you’ve done? Let you escape the shame of your sins?” He crouched down again, so close now that Rajasima could smell the sweet tea on his breath. “Oh, dear brother, you won’t die for a long time. I argued for you. Mother thought we should simply kill you and feed your body to the pigs. Father was on the fence—he is such a softie. But I pled to them that you didn’t deserve the chance to be reborn. You deserved to suffer for as long as possible. That I would personally make sure you regretted your actions for the rest of your days.

“Did you think I was coming to see you out of the kindness of my heart?”

Rajasima had no time to answer; Sundara leaned forward and kissed him.

The familiarity of it made Rajasima want to cry all over again. He’d missed these intimate moments with Sundara, although he was already tensing up in anticipation. He opened his mouth to Sundara in desperation, hoping that maybe this time, he could convince Sundara to delay. He kept his hands at his sides, though; he had no hope to overpower Sundara, and only by showing himself meek and obedient could he maybe win his brother over.

It didn’t matter. Between one breath and the next, the knife was plunged into his side. Rajasima screamed, his head snapping back and breaking the kiss. Sundara was undeterred, kissing along his neck where the beard hadn’t grown yet, down to his collar and shoulders, all while he twisted the knife deeper.

“Please,” Rajasima cried. “Please, Sundu, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Should have thought of that before you fucked that whore.”

The agony was blinding. His breathing was loud, coming in heavy pants, all of his sensation was concentrated on the way the knife kept moving in and out of his skin. He heard the slick noises of blood gushing out. The knife clattered to the floor, and then Sundara’s fingers were there, inside him, pulling the wound apart and poking at his insides.

The fruit that had tasted so sweet threatened to come back up. Rajasima’s entire body shook and he couldn’t do anything but sit there while Sundara prodded him and dug deeper and deeper into him. His mind protested against the sensation, sharp pain and the wrongness of being split open and having something moving inside him.

 He should have known Sundara wouldn’t be kind. He didn’t know why he kept hoping this time would be different.

It became harder and harder to keep his body upright. His body threatened to fall to the ground if not for Sundara’s strong arm around his back, holding him in place.

“Can you smell that, Raju? You smell divine.” Sundara pulled his hand out of Rajasima and touched Rajasima’s lips with his bloody fingers. “Look at you, with painted lips like a courtesan.”

Sundara kissed him again, running his tongue over Rajasima’s lips and sucking the blood from them. His bloodied hand played with Rajasima’s nipple.

There was something wrong in Rajasima’s head, that all this did was remind him of the lazy evenings he’d spent with his brother in the past. When Sundara’s violence was a game they both enjoyed, confined to spankings and light bondage.

His cock started to get hard. He was too numb to attempt to hide it, the tears still streaming down his face and the back of his throat burning with bile.

When Sundara noticed, he made a pleased noise. “See, I know you, Raju. You protest, but you love it when I hurt you.”

Rajasima didn’t have the energy to respond, but Sundara didn’t need a response anyway. He petted Rajasima’s head with the bloody hand, smearing blood everywhere. “I’m going to set you down, brother, and then I’m going to fuck you. With my hand inside you. I wonder if I could feel my cock in there? What do you think?”

“Please. Please don’t,” Rajasima whispered.

Sundara laughed. “I love how you plead.” He gently set Rajasima down on the floor, where a small puddle of blood was gathering. Rajasima noticed that Sundara’s beautiful clothes were stained with red now. Especially the boots. The boots that were once his.

Sundara didn’t seem to care that he was getting himself even more dirty as he undid the buttons of his coat and trousers. He was, unsurprisingly, already hard, his erection starkly dark in contrast to the white silk trousers.

“That’s right. Just lie there while I take care of you,” Sundara said cruelly. He stroked himself idly, then got on his knees and pushed Rajasima’s legs apart to expose his hole. As dirty as he was, Rajasima wouldn’t have expected Sundara to want this, but Sundara didn’t seem to care. He plunged his fingers into the open wound again, and Rajasima screamed again, his voice hoarser this time.

His mind swam with pain, and he thought he could feel every one of Sundara’s fingers wriggling inside him like worms, burrowing into his intestines, stroking them. He had a vision of Sundara pulling his intestines out entirely, and he started to beg, any nonsense words he could force out in between the cries of pain.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Sundara chastised. “Look, my hand is out.” He held up his dripping hand and placed it on his own cock, stroking it bright and bloody. “I had to get lubricant from somewhere.”

Rajasima shook his head and wished he could crawl away. But his body didn’t want to move at all anymore. He watched through teary eyes as Sundara pushed his legs up further and lined himself up. He got no further warning before Sundara thrust in. His mouth opened again in another scream, but this time no sound came out.

He wanted to vomit, and he only managed to force it all back down because he remembered what had happened the last time he’d puked.

The pain was eternal. It would surely haunt him in every life to come, follow him in his dreams and nightmares. But it wasn’t a unique pain; the last time Sundara had visited, he’d broken all the fingers in Rajasima’s hand. The time before, he’d peeled the skin off his cock.

“You’re so tight,” Sundara commented. “Keep squeezing, just like that.” He gave shallow thrusts and leaned forward, placing one hand just over the open wound. “I’m going to reach in again.”

“Please. Please, Sundu, please. I love you. Please stop,” Rajasima cried. “I don’t want this.”

“Do I look like I care what you want? You’re the lowest of the low, Raju. You live only as long as I will it, and I’m going to take my pleasure from you.”

He couldn’t smell anything but blood now. Sundara’s sleeve was entirely stained red, and some flecks of blood had found their way onto his face too. He looked like the demon Karthika had accused him of being, but Rajasima could still only see his beloved brother.

His mind drifted, and he thought he was getting used to the pain. Sundara’s words melted together, just that familiar voice that had once whispered secret words of devotion. Yes, they’d marry princesses as their station demanded, but they’d always belong to each other. When they’d danced with courtiers, their eyes had met, and they’d smile at each other knowingly.

Nobody could ever come between them, they’d told each other.

Gods, Rajasima loved Sundara so much. The way Sundara would make him smile. The jokes they’d told each other. The little tricks of magic Sundara had done to alleviate their boredom. The way they’d discovered sex with each other, had figured out what they liked and how hot it got Rajasima to be ordered to his knees while Sundara mocked him lovingly.

This didn’t feel the same, but it was similar. He still had Sundara’s devotion, dark and twisted, and Rajasima loved him and hated him for it. He wanted to die. He wanted to live. He wanted Sundara to forget him, and he wanted to never be forgotten.

Rajasima sobbed loudly and cried openly, the tears flowing with pain and humiliation. But he was feeling flushed, too, the familiar cloud of desire teasing at the edges of his mind. He used to lose himself to pleasure, and he liked that more than losing himself to pain. So he let his mind float. His hand lifted slightly in an attempt to touch Sundara, but he didn’t have the energy for that. It dropped back to the floor; cold blood splashed onto his thigh.

“You deserve all of this,” Sundara growled out. “I loved you, Raju, and—” his words trailed off, lost in a series of moans as he shuddered hard against Rajasima’s body. His fingers curled into a fist inside Rajasima’s body.

Gods, it was too much. When Sundara’s orgasm subsided, he pulled his hand out. The sudden loss of Sundara’s warmth sent sparks lighting across his body, and Rajasima screamed again, this time as pleasure overtook him.

He blacked out for a moment.

When he finally had the strength to open his eyes again, Sundara was standing over him, fingers sparkling with magic. He cast a spell that rippled over his clothes and repelled all the dirt and blood, leaving him looking as impeccable as when he’d first come in.

Then he set his hand just over the wound he’d inflicted. “I had a lot of fun, Raju. Let’s do this again sometime.”

Rajasima shook his head as the magic touched him, knitting his flesh and repelling any infection. The healing process was agony, but even worse was knowing that Sundara was doing all this just so he could torture Rajasima again in the future. After all, he’d healed the broken bones and the peeled skin.

“I hope you contemplate all your wrongdoings while I’m away,” Sundara said once he was done. He walked towards the cell door and picked up his lamp.

“I didn’t betray you,” Rajasima said. “Why won’t you believe me?”

Sundara stopped and looked over his shoulder, his gaze smoldering with anger. “Why should I believe you, Raju? You fucked that commoner. You promised you were mine and you just…”

Then he walked out the door, shutting it behind him with a loud slam.

Rajasima was left in the dark, lying in a pool of his own blood.


End file.
